Post by EmbodimentOfFear on Dec 10, 2016 18:48:35 GMT -5
“You’ll have to pardon my surprise, Scared. It isn’t like you to complain.”
“Do not mistake this for a complaint, Robert. Merely...venting frustration.”
“Right. Because I’m a fucking shrink.”
“You seemed to serve that role adequately at WrestleStock.”
The Director of Human Resources leans back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk, with his trusted bat across his lap.
“So Bamboo gave her whatever dumbfuck match she came up with. What do you want from me?”
“Curious, is it not? Why does she even bother to challenge me at all, when she can go to her brother and simply have her way?”
“His term ends in a few weeks and we’ll have a new Creative Director for everyone to bitch about. And don’t even fucking ask, it’s not going to be you because nobody wants to hear a long-winded speech to explain every stray thought that crosses through your skull.”
“I have far too much work still to do to concern myself with filling that position. After Horizons I will need to rectify the situation of whichever of the two miscreants have possession of the Cross-Hemisphere Title, which I think should be noted Eden placed so little value on, she threw away the opportunity to get it back herself. Were it not for her own actions, I would still be champion and she would be facing me at Horizons for the title. I would implore you and your fellow members of the Consortium, that alone should be evidence enough that she does not deserve a match for any championship ever again.”
“If you want your own title match, you might try focusing on this match yourself.”
“My focus is clear. It is hers that is not. Eden Morgan claims to want a match with me, expends copious time and effort following me around and stealing my belongings, has just witnessed my brutalization of Killian King, yet she has time to waste milling about with the Engine of Chaos. We will be lucky if she makes it to Horizons at all, there is certainly a risk that she sees a shiny object on the way to the arena and diverts herself to Canada. The woman is so self-absorbed that it is a wonder she notices other people at all.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sending Toss to pick up some Mickey D’s. You want anything?”
“I endeavor not to put such poisons in my body. Nevertheless, I would enjoy a good sandwich.”
It is December 23rd, 2007, shortly after the LWF Renewal broadcast has gone off the air. The Lords of Pain have won the Tag Team Championship in a three team Table Elimination match, defeating Cold Fusion and the Metal Militia.
It is the young rookie that beams in their locker room, hanging his half of the titles in full view.
“First of many.”
Behind him, his partner and mentor frowns.
“Do not get ahead of yourself, Donovan.”
“Take it easy, Fear. We made short work of those losers tonight.”
“Those ‘losers’ are people that should be respected. There was a former World Champion out there.”
“The one I powerbombed through a table, right? And don’t tell me you think that Red Fusion guy is ever going to amount to anything.”
“He put YOU through a table.”
“Never happened.”
“Just because the referee did not see something does not mean that it did not happen.”
“All that matters is how history remembers us, and history is written by winners. We won, Fear. I will be remembered as a winner. Like I said, this is just a start. I’m going to conquer everything, I’m going to be a legend.”
“You still have a lot to learn. When I was getting my start, I worked every night I could, not just here in LWF, honed my craft. You might do well to spread your wings.”
He hands Hastings a flyer.
“Like this, new promotion, just had a big show down in DC last month. Small time, has potential for growth.”
“Yeah, okay. Maybe I’ll check it out sometime, when I get bored with all the winning we’re doing around here. All the history I’m writing here. You remember that while we do this. History is what we say it is.”
Hastings grins and walks out with his title, but it is a frowning face that watches him leave.
A book sits on a shelf. He notices it, picks it up, discovers it to be an empty journal, perhaps left behind by mistake by another touring group that used this arena at some point.
He thinks about what his protege said, about the way that history is written. He thinks about how it should be written.
And he goes to find a pen.
Static fills your screen, and slowly fades into the image of Phrixus shown sitting in a chair in a dimly lit room, his head down with his hands over his head.
“There is a rare condition known as anesthesia awareness, or unintended intra-operative awareness. It happens during surgery when general anesthesia is provided in an amount insuffucient to keep the patient unconscious during the procedure, but they are still aware. Unable to communicate their condition, they have no choice but to suffer in pain and agony while their body is torn asunder, feeling every cut, pull, and tear. Feeling the cracks of a rib. Feeling the sharpness of a blade. The patient will feel pain and suffer an explicit recall of operative events. The long term effects of such an ordeal on a person can be PTSD, nightmares, night terrors, flashbacks, insomnia, and in some cases even suicide. It is possibly one of the most traumatic events a person can suffer to their own body. The terror they must feel as these events are occuring...it fascinates me.”
Phrixus sits up, his hands running from the top of his hand to his chin as he looks at the camera.
“It is a fate not unlike that which awaits you, Eden. A feeling of helplessness, of numbness, coupled with a relentless pain and agony. What you will experience at Horizons is mere awareness of the violence unleashed upon you. I cannot help but wonder what it is that will flash through your mind as you prepare for Monday night. A recall, an awareness, a pain unlike any you have received at the hands of anyone else before. Throughout your career you have been naught but an opportunist, who has benefitted from being in the right place at the right time and is held back first and foremost by your own shortcomings, by your own insistence to destroy anything that might bring you joy or satisfacton. You find yourself now in my focus, albeit momentarily. Yes, it was I that bears responsibility for your dirty laundry to be publicly aired. You deserved that. Recall how it felt to have you dignity stripped away...remember the shards shattering around you. It was your past...and it shall be your future.”
Phrixus stands and turns his back to the camera, lost in thought for a moment.
“You demanded a match with you. It was not something you deserved, but you are getting it nonetheless. You wanted the Hall of Mirrors. The entitlement sickens me. You believe that you should simply be given whatever you want, you spot a shiny object and you flail for it. You cannot help yourself. So no, you do not get the Hall of Mirrors. Instead, you present us with a concept you have dubbed as Through the Looking Glass. Appropriate, given you seem to reside in a permanent fantasy wonderland, one in which you can drift from one fleeting thought to the next without consequence.”
Phrixus turns back and stares at the camera.
“It is the holiday season. You are getting what you want, your desired opponent, your desired match. No doubt it will be every bit the mess that you deserve it to be. One way or another, you will find...awareness.”
Phrixus turns away as the scene fades into darkness.
“Fear me…”
“Do not mistake this for a complaint, Robert. Merely...venting frustration.”
“Right. Because I’m a fucking shrink.”
“You seemed to serve that role adequately at WrestleStock.”
The Director of Human Resources leans back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk, with his trusted bat across his lap.
“So Bamboo gave her whatever dumbfuck match she came up with. What do you want from me?”
“Curious, is it not? Why does she even bother to challenge me at all, when she can go to her brother and simply have her way?”
“His term ends in a few weeks and we’ll have a new Creative Director for everyone to bitch about. And don’t even fucking ask, it’s not going to be you because nobody wants to hear a long-winded speech to explain every stray thought that crosses through your skull.”
“I have far too much work still to do to concern myself with filling that position. After Horizons I will need to rectify the situation of whichever of the two miscreants have possession of the Cross-Hemisphere Title, which I think should be noted Eden placed so little value on, she threw away the opportunity to get it back herself. Were it not for her own actions, I would still be champion and she would be facing me at Horizons for the title. I would implore you and your fellow members of the Consortium, that alone should be evidence enough that she does not deserve a match for any championship ever again.”
“If you want your own title match, you might try focusing on this match yourself.”
“My focus is clear. It is hers that is not. Eden Morgan claims to want a match with me, expends copious time and effort following me around and stealing my belongings, has just witnessed my brutalization of Killian King, yet she has time to waste milling about with the Engine of Chaos. We will be lucky if she makes it to Horizons at all, there is certainly a risk that she sees a shiny object on the way to the arena and diverts herself to Canada. The woman is so self-absorbed that it is a wonder she notices other people at all.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sending Toss to pick up some Mickey D’s. You want anything?”
“I endeavor not to put such poisons in my body. Nevertheless, I would enjoy a good sandwich.”
* * * * *
It is December 23rd, 2007, shortly after the LWF Renewal broadcast has gone off the air. The Lords of Pain have won the Tag Team Championship in a three team Table Elimination match, defeating Cold Fusion and the Metal Militia.
It is the young rookie that beams in their locker room, hanging his half of the titles in full view.
“First of many.”
Behind him, his partner and mentor frowns.
“Do not get ahead of yourself, Donovan.”
“Take it easy, Fear. We made short work of those losers tonight.”
“Those ‘losers’ are people that should be respected. There was a former World Champion out there.”
“The one I powerbombed through a table, right? And don’t tell me you think that Red Fusion guy is ever going to amount to anything.”
“He put YOU through a table.”
“Never happened.”
“Just because the referee did not see something does not mean that it did not happen.”
“All that matters is how history remembers us, and history is written by winners. We won, Fear. I will be remembered as a winner. Like I said, this is just a start. I’m going to conquer everything, I’m going to be a legend.”
“You still have a lot to learn. When I was getting my start, I worked every night I could, not just here in LWF, honed my craft. You might do well to spread your wings.”
He hands Hastings a flyer.
“Like this, new promotion, just had a big show down in DC last month. Small time, has potential for growth.”
“Yeah, okay. Maybe I’ll check it out sometime, when I get bored with all the winning we’re doing around here. All the history I’m writing here. You remember that while we do this. History is what we say it is.”
Hastings grins and walks out with his title, but it is a frowning face that watches him leave.
A book sits on a shelf. He notices it, picks it up, discovers it to be an empty journal, perhaps left behind by mistake by another touring group that used this arena at some point.
He thinks about what his protege said, about the way that history is written. He thinks about how it should be written.
And he goes to find a pen.
* * * * *
Static fills your screen, and slowly fades into the image of Phrixus shown sitting in a chair in a dimly lit room, his head down with his hands over his head.
“There is a rare condition known as anesthesia awareness, or unintended intra-operative awareness. It happens during surgery when general anesthesia is provided in an amount insuffucient to keep the patient unconscious during the procedure, but they are still aware. Unable to communicate their condition, they have no choice but to suffer in pain and agony while their body is torn asunder, feeling every cut, pull, and tear. Feeling the cracks of a rib. Feeling the sharpness of a blade. The patient will feel pain and suffer an explicit recall of operative events. The long term effects of such an ordeal on a person can be PTSD, nightmares, night terrors, flashbacks, insomnia, and in some cases even suicide. It is possibly one of the most traumatic events a person can suffer to their own body. The terror they must feel as these events are occuring...it fascinates me.”
Phrixus sits up, his hands running from the top of his hand to his chin as he looks at the camera.
“It is a fate not unlike that which awaits you, Eden. A feeling of helplessness, of numbness, coupled with a relentless pain and agony. What you will experience at Horizons is mere awareness of the violence unleashed upon you. I cannot help but wonder what it is that will flash through your mind as you prepare for Monday night. A recall, an awareness, a pain unlike any you have received at the hands of anyone else before. Throughout your career you have been naught but an opportunist, who has benefitted from being in the right place at the right time and is held back first and foremost by your own shortcomings, by your own insistence to destroy anything that might bring you joy or satisfacton. You find yourself now in my focus, albeit momentarily. Yes, it was I that bears responsibility for your dirty laundry to be publicly aired. You deserved that. Recall how it felt to have you dignity stripped away...remember the shards shattering around you. It was your past...and it shall be your future.”
Phrixus stands and turns his back to the camera, lost in thought for a moment.
“You demanded a match with you. It was not something you deserved, but you are getting it nonetheless. You wanted the Hall of Mirrors. The entitlement sickens me. You believe that you should simply be given whatever you want, you spot a shiny object and you flail for it. You cannot help yourself. So no, you do not get the Hall of Mirrors. Instead, you present us with a concept you have dubbed as Through the Looking Glass. Appropriate, given you seem to reside in a permanent fantasy wonderland, one in which you can drift from one fleeting thought to the next without consequence.”
Phrixus turns back and stares at the camera.
“It is the holiday season. You are getting what you want, your desired opponent, your desired match. No doubt it will be every bit the mess that you deserve it to be. One way or another, you will find...awareness.”
Phrixus turns away as the scene fades into darkness.
“Fear me…”
